The silence that followed the explosion of the Pheromone Bomb wasn't the silence of death. It was the silence of a deep, collective intake of breath.
The lobby of the Twilight Casino was no longer black and violet. It was a hazy, shimmering pink. The air was thick, heavy, and tasted like spun sugar mixed with pure, distilled lust. It was the biological weaponization of "The Bedroom Eyes."
Reed stood frozen against the bar, his heart was hammering against his ribs, not from fear, but from the residual adrenaline of the alchemy and the sudden, overwhelming spike in the room's ambient temperature.
In front of him, Lady Isolde, the Roseblade, the S-Rank Duelist who had threatened to peel him like an apple moments ago, swayed on her feet.
